I Will Surely Die
by Burning.Mirrors
Summary: I've lied to the people who cared about me the most and even to people I've never met. I've cheated people for personal gain or simply out of spite. I'm guilty of every crime I've ever been tried for and many more that I have not. But the most damning thing of all? I can still live with myself; and I'm just getting started. /Post CoR, Slight AU (Riddick timeline compression)
1. Chapter 1

**I Will Surely Die:  
** **Chapter 1**

* * *

Generations ago Sol Lucia was a planet rich in ore and mineral deposits, prospectors and miners moving to stake their claim as companies began to pour their assets into building mining towns and quarries. A superpower in its time, the planet generated billions of tons of sicherite, thallium, and gypsum annually- for a time, Sol Lucia was a prosperous hardworking planet and one of the main influencers of the greater Berrin Gate sector. While the planet's deposits were rich, so too were they shallow; within two generations of around-the-clock mining and drilling, the veins started to dry up. Smaller companies and individuals were forced to pull out or close up, leaving millions of workers without jobs or any form of income. Within the following 25 years, Sol Lucia's mining industry had been completely monopolized by Bellum Industries. Then the war came.

What began as a protest by disgruntled miners and factory workers quickly grew into an all-out rebellion by the natives of Sol Lucia against Bellum Industries. The festering resentment for the company that had suppressed the planet's population and kept them in squalor in the interest of profit fueled the uprising despite the widespread lack of weaponry or gear. Attempts were made by homegrown militant groups to seize the factories and other facilities, but Bellum was quick to file an appeal with the government and received assistance from the Marine Military Police. It also helped that Bellum had thought to add a small army of mercs to their payroll. Full-frontal assaults on corporate structures were persistent for the first several months, but within a year's time the insurgence had been reduced to sporadic guerilla warfare-style attacks by the most diehard anti-establishment fighters. Meanwhile, the rest of the population was forced to return to working and trying to eke out some form of existence.

With unemployment at a staggering 64%, once thriving urban centers soon became overpopulated as rural populations flocked to them in hopes of finding work in the quarries or at the refineries; lacking the infrastructure to house this migration, shanty towns sprung up in back alleys and side streets before slowly consuming entire cities. In response to the shortage of resources and money, many of the overrun towns became black market networks or safe-havens for criminals. Gangs claimed 'territories', demanding money or goods from the people who lived there in exchange for "protection" from rival gangs, resulting in assault, robbery, and murder becoming common occurrences in the daily lives of many. But that was daily life in a practically lawless society. Well, lawless with the exception of a single existing rule: don't fuck with Bellum Industries. Between the high electric fences, razor wire, armed mercs, and attack dogs present at every corporate site in the aftermath the war, the concept of another attempt at rebellion had lost a lot of its appeal.

If you were ever curious to see the depths of the depravity human greed was capable of creating, all you had to do was look around any of Sol Lucia's cities. The air hung thick with particles that billowed from the smokestacks of refineries, casting the trash-strewn streets in an oddly appropriate perpetual twilight. Untreated water from subterranean fracking was pumped up to street level to the storm drains, overflowing the congested sewers and frequently flooding the lowest areas of the city where the poorest of the poor were forced to live. In broad daylight, literal marketplaces for illegal goods operated like any other business, fed by smugglers, scrappers, and scavengers looking for a place to fence their wares which ranged from stolen goods to firearms, exotic animals, and drugs. Things like drinking water were commodities while human beings were normal market fare.

Sol Lucia was a literal hellscape. You couldn't rely simply on smarts or strength to survive- really all it came down to sheer, dumb luck.

In this case, luck meant you lived to reach adulthood; if you were really lucky, maybe you even got a job in the mines; and if you were truly undeniably lucky, you might even make it off-world by your own volition. Whether you survived off-world or not was an entirely different matter, but those who remained behind all seemed to agree on one simple fact: no one goes back to Sol Lucia.

* * *

"Get me this con's file now; and I want everything," Harkon instructed around the butt of his cigar, sitting heavily behind his desk as he stared down the still-frame image on the monitor across the room. His first week as Warden and a prisoner practically waltzes out of Hubble Bay without a scratch- and of course they just had to be one of the ones smart enough to disable the locator beacon on the ship they jacked making any attempt at trailing decidedly pointless.

One of the Deputy Wardens, Stokes, soon returned with a one-page printout on holofilm from the prisoner database which he then passed over the desk. "I said I wanted all of it: the whole record," Harkon repeated, the Deputy frowning as his thumbs hooked over his sidearm holster. "That is the whole record. First-time offender," Stokes replied flatly as the Warden began to read, a bit of ash dropping off the end of his cigar onto the film before tumbling onto the leg of his pants.

 **\\\Vanora Lessing  
\\\Prisoner No. 7233159-35  
\\\Date of Birth: c. 2553-2554 GST  
\\\Place of Birth: Sol Lucia, Berrin Gate sector, 3kpc local cluster  
\\\Last Known Residence: Aquila Major, Aquila system, Orion-Cygnus local cluster  
\\\Prison Time Served: 0 years, 3 weeks, 2 days  
\\\Summary of Charges  
\\\2583 - One count murder in the first-degree, one count statutory burglary  
\\\Plea: No contest  
\\\Sentence: Life in prison without the possibility of parole  
**

"Murder, huh. That's a pretty big first bite," Harkon commented, dropping the film onto his desk before scratching his jaw as he observed the holographic image of the woman on the sheet. Staring back at him were a pair of unreadable almond-shaped amber eyes affixed to a pale angular face and topped off with a short crop of dark hair. All in all what he was presented with was a fairly average looking woman who wouldn't have any trouble blending into a crowd- the worst kind of convict to try to catch. While this was his first stint as a warden, Harkon had been part of the Mercenary Guild for the better part of forty years and in that time he had developed a strong gut instinct when it came to cons and civilians alike.

This one, well, this one worried him. As far as murderers went she could almost be considered average, having only one kill to her name. She _was_ from Sol Lucia after all; this may have been her first murder on record, but that didn't mean it was her first murder. The odd bit was that she opted to use debilitating but nonlethal force on all the mercs that stood between her and her way out, including one particularly unanticipated headbutt that broke a merc's nose and fractured his cheekbone. That was even after she got her hands on a loaded pistol.

So she'd shoot a defenseless man in his own home but wouldn't kill a merc aiming a gun at her; Harkon wasn't a math whiz by any means, but those numbers just didn't seem to add up. If nothing else it seemed to imply she had a death wish of epic proportions.

"Stokes, if you were still in the game doing freelance, what kind of price would make you take an interest in our free-range jailbird here?" Harkon asked around the cigar that hung from the corner of his mount, fingers tapping absently on the holofilm. "100,000 UD, maybe 75,000 if I were in a pinch," Stokes said after a long moment, lifting his hat up enough to scratch his scalp before tugging it back into place as he spoke, "But then again there aren't many people who can break out of a double-max security prison."

"Put a bounty out for 150,000 UD- and make sure any Guild members on Sol Lucia get a heads up that there might be an easy payday coming their way," Harkon instructed after a moment, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied smirk. "You think she'd go back to Sol Lucia? Why not Aquila Major? Seems like that would be the easiest place to find a sympathetic acquaintance," Stokes commented, the Warden giving him a blasé glance before stubbing out the meager remains of his cigar in the crystal ashtray near the corner of his desk. "Sol Lucia is one of the easiest places in the galaxy to disappear and still be able to get off-world with ease if the search starts to heat up. She knows that without a doubt. Besides, didn't you hear? Our friends in the Aquila system got a visit from the Necromongers; there ain't a soul left there to help."

* * *

Coming out of cryosleep was rarely a pleasant experience, even negating the grogginess; dry mouth, stiff joints, and for some reason everything smelled vaguely of antiseptic. Vod clenched her eyes shut before taking a deep breath and reaching up for the hatch release she knew was just over her head. The cryo locker let out a hiss as the seal broke before the front glass swung away and she began the process of detaching the cryo injector from her forearm. She would choose the locker with the sticky injector, of course, drawing a string of muttered curses from her lips before the gauntlet finally split open and she yanked her arm free.

Stepping over the short threshold of the locker Vod returned to the nav center before dropping heavily into the pilot's chair. For a prison transport ship it had pretty nice seats and plenty of legroom, something she was decidedly grateful for as she stretched herself out as much as she could given the somewhat lacking headspace. Through the front glass she saw the familiar construction of an Aquilan outpost, her current coordinates indicating it was Outpost 7670 just outside the Aquilan system. Killing the main engines she blipped the directional thrusters to keep the ship's trajectory until the outpost's magnetic tow took hold and guided the ship the rest of the way into the hangar.

As soon as the airlock engaged Vod was off the ship and headed past the main console cluster inside the outpost toward the lone door protected by a bioscanner panel. Simply resting her hand on the light blue glass activated the scanning mechanism, the entire pad flashing green after a few seconds as the tumblers in the door released. Vod pushed the bare-faced metal door open and passed into a portion of the station designed for exclusive use by the Aquilan Security Corp. Tramping down a winding staircase she emerged in a compact command center, half of which was active and maintaining a number of the outpost's functions while the other half sat on standby.

First and foremost, she decided, a warm shower was in order. A check in the cubbyholes near the munitions room lead her into possession of a clean change of clothes, and within 15 minutes she'd showered and redressed herself in a white g-unit top and contrasting black compression leggings with leather reinforcement points. Running a hand back through her rapidly drying hair after lacing up her boots Vod relocated to the lone chair in the middle of the computer cluster.

Methodically Vod began dredging the outpost's database and gathering major publications and vids from the last few weeks in an attempt to catch up to the outside world after her brief incarceration. Hubble Bay, like most detention centers, was a notoriously poor place to obtain any sort of news about the outside. Hell, a black hole could spontaneously appear and obliterate half the galaxy and it'd take at least a week for anyone in the cages to even hear a whisper about it. Even the transport she jacked was lacking any sort of connection to public access channels. What kind of bullshit was that?

As she scrolled through, vids began to surface dating back less than two weeks ago of newscasters reporting the destruction of the Aquilan system, a chill going up her spine the first time the Necromongers were credited with the attack. A recording from Aquila III showed the entire surface scorched black, a fact which didn't surprise Vod in the least. It wasn't unusual to hear traders at the markets on Sol Lucia talking about this planet or that system being wiped out in a day's time by some kind of unstoppable juggernaut force. All that ever remained were the large conquest icons that removed any sort of doubt about who or what was responsible. It sounded more like a ghost story than anything, especially when you accounted for all the dead souls that now haunted Aquilan space.

The Aquilans, as a whole, were a very altruistic people- their doctrine seemed to stress selfless giving and second chances. But, of course, there was an ugly secret that helped them continue being one of fastest growing 'positive' influences in the galaxy. Bring us your tired, huddled masses of convicts and ne'er-do-wells and we'll return to you an elite force of human-sized WMDs. It was the secret deal of the century, and to get a chance at it all you had to do was get yourself arrested in the Aquilans' jurisdiction. Then their government would offer to provide asylum throughout the duration of ASC training, and once you earned your cert any outstanding bounties would be cleared and your criminal history would be completely purged. A clean slate in exchange for military service didn't sound like such a bad deal, assuming you were okay with the idea of being under their thumb until the day you died. Those who enlisted in this way without exception became what the regulars referred to as Spooks- the arm the Corp could use for any purpose while having plausible deniability of any involvement. The covert nature of the Spooks meant they were never listed in ASC personnel records and, as such, even if one were arrested during a mission it would be nigh impossible to trace back to the Aquilans. Needless to say it wasn't unusual for Spooks to get ghosted.

As one could expect, that's exactly what happened to Vod. But she wasn't mad- not at the Aquilans, anyway. The terms of the agreement were made painfully clear during the initial extension of the offer and as such she knew the predicament she now found herself in was solely her own doing. Considering the fact that the entire Aquilan system was now a wasteland it seemed Vod was free of the contract and completely on her own. That meant she would have to come up with a new place to go underground for a while.

As the news she was scanning through became more current, she came across a report on the Necromonger invasion of Helion Prime; for some reason when the Necros pulled off the planet they didn't raze it. This was… unheard of. Vod's brow furrowed as she expanded the search for Helion Prime. One of the auxiliary screens sprang to life mid-search, displaying a query report from the outpost's public console on the upper level. Pulling all the searches from the session log dated close to sixty days ago, Vod's eyes roved over the items with mild curiosity.

 **# Session 332-J7: Day 134, 2583 GST  
# helion prime /…  
# aquila major /…  
# furya /…  
# u.v.6 /…  
# richard b. riddick /…**

While the upstairs consoles provided access to portions of the outpost database and most public channels, a majority of the data in the array was only accessible from the ASC terminals. Fortunately, Vod had access to such a terminal and made quick work of re-querying the more intriguing items on the session log.

 **# furya /…**

 **# Planet: Furya  
# System: Furyan system  
# Local cluster: Perseus  
# Orbit: Irregular  
# Race: Furyan  
# Initial mapping: 2499 GST  
# Re-mapped: 2556 GST  
# World status: Dead – External causes  
**

' _External causes…'_ Vod frowned minutely, clearly less than satisfied by the vague explanation. For being so keen on documenting and mapping the galaxy the Aquilans were pretty shit when it came to certain aspects of the task.

The next two searches seemed to yield less interesting yet equally useless results.

 **# u.v.6 /…**

 **#Planet: U.V.6  
#System: Frigido  
#Local cluster: Outer  
#Orbit: Elliptical  
#Race: None  
#Initial mapping: 2510 GST  
#Re-mapped: N/A  
#World status: Uninhabitable  
**

 **# richard b. riddick /…**

 **#Riddick, Richard B.  
#Date of Birth: Unknown  
#Place of Birth: Unknown  
#WARNING: Escaped convict  
#BOUNTY: 1,500,000UD - Anonymous**

Curious, Vod entered one last query.

 **#vanora lessing /…**

 **#Lessing, Vanora  
#Date of Birth: ****2553 GST  
#Place of Birth: Sol Lucia  
#WARNING: Escaped convict  
#BOUNTY: 150,000UD – Warden J. Harkon, Hubble Bay Penal Facility**

With a slightly aggravated sigh Vod finally leaned back away from the terminal before beginning to reconsider her next steps. While 150k wasn't an incredible amount of money for a payday it was certainly enough to turn a few heads. Admittedly, it'd been a few years since the last time she was stuck carrying a bounty around but that didn't mean she'd stopped thinking and planning as if there were.

First and foremost she had to find somewhere to ditch or swap out the prison transport to avoid drawing too much attention to herself. Fortunately, she knew just the place.

* * *

 **\- To be continued; comments/thoughts/critiques welcome!**


	2. Chapter 2

**I Will Surely Die:  
Chapter 2**

* * *

The seemingly premature departure of the Necromongers from Helion Prime left the planet in a state of limbo; many of those who had refused to convert and remained on-world still insisted on staying while others seized the opportunity and fled for different systems. Even with no standing military to speak of and their infrastructure in shambles, the remnants of the government attempted to keep some semblance of order on the ailing planet. Without any enforcers to speak of Helion Prime had instead descended into a state of darkness- and lacking the means to continue exporting solar energy, the rest of the system fell with it.

The conquest icons that preceded the Necromongers remained scattered across Helion Prime as grim reminders of the uncertainty that lay ahead. Would the Necromongers return to finish what they started, or would they simply move on to another planet or another system? Reports seemed to indicate that the armada had left the Helion system, but for how long? For now, at least, life went on in a fashion somewhat comparable to normalcy; stalls in the market still opened, people bartered and traded in combinations of goods and UD but now many doing anything they could to gather enough money to buy passage on the next ship headed off-world. Fortunately a number of transit hubs on the planet remained somewhat functional, attracting commercial vessels willing to trade transportation for unusually extravagant amounts of money. The most ruthless of businesspeople saw an opportunity to make some quick cash and jumped at the chance, feeding on the fear of people who had no one else to help them.

In 'civil' society people wore guises of compassion and gentility just as easily as breathing, but rarely were they anything but a disguise for the ugly amorality that festered beneath. For how frequently Sol Lucia was scorned as a cesspool for only the worst of humanity, so many neglected to realize that the very same type of people walked among them every day. Their delusion was so pervasive that even in the face of someone acting cruelly or selfishly they had the audacity to act as if such a thought had never passed through their own minds. Vod had seen and done far too much to consider herself naïve or innocent, but for what it was worth she had always been honest with herself.

After locking up her ship and doing a quick check to make sure her pistol was secure in the shoulder holster along the left side of her ribcage, Vod adjusted the well-worn dark brown duster jacket she'd found in one of the footlockers in the cryo bay so it concealed her small assortment of weaponry. By the way the jacket fit she figured it'd originally belonged to a man who stood a little taller than her and was a bit wider in the torso, but in her mind the extra room was a good thing considering how unforgiving leather could be when it came to movement.

A secondary glance around the transit hub confirmed that she'd made the right choice in deciding where to dump the prison ship. Ideally someone would be willing to buy it off her so she could walk away with a few UD- all she had to do was undercut the cost of a trip on a commercial transport ship. Alternatively, judging by the number of salvager vessels, she'd probably have an easy time chopping it for parts. Logically that would be the best way to cover her tracks, but it meant a bit more work in trying to find buyers. One thing that seemed strange was not having to deal with any sort of transit authority- the automated atmospheric scanning systems appeared to still be offline and short-range communications must have been shut down in favor of powering more vital systems. Due to the lack of in-air communication, Vod actually didn't even know what city hub she was landing in; having had little occasion or reason to go to Helion Prime in the past, the planet was largely foreign to her.

Navigating around the remains of collapsed walls and pillars, broken advert boards, and collapsed kiosks, Vod drew to a stop near a pair of malfunctioning automatic doors that appeared to lead out to the street. Above the exit a few Latin letters remained, as well as a full Arabic text: مكة جديدة. While she would be the first to admit that her Arabic was somewhat rusty from having been away from Sol Lucia for so long, the elementary phrase was one Vod instantly recognized. Envoys from New Mecca came to Sol Lucia every now and then, bringing supplies of food, medicine, clothing, and other personal care items as a form of charity while attempting to convert more people to the Chrislam faith. Vod used to look forward to their visits as a child, enjoying the readings of stories from their Holy Book; whenever they came through the missionaries opened schools where they did lessons on religion, reading, and basic arithmetic, things many children like herself might not have otherwise gotten a chance to learn.

But after the war, well, the missions never resumed because the area had become "too unsafe" to send people to. Vod wasn't even ten at the time, and while she was disappointed she knew it would happen one day. Everyone left eventually, either by choice or by death. Naturally, Vod decided that she would leave by choice- all she had to do was beat death to get there.

Being forced to squint against the blazing sun, Vod's eyes were quick to adjust as she assessed the surrounding area. A slipshod bazaar had been erected, and what seemed to primarily be New Meccans were attempting to sell just about anything they could dig out of the rubble. There appeared to be some off-worlders picking through the wares, scavengers and scrappers most likely, looking for a good deal where they knew they could make back at least twice as much as the desperate refugee was willing to part with it for. As she passed behind a scrapper in the process of buying a displaced but in-tact relay master switch, Vod's hand made a quick dip into the jacket pocket the man had just tucked a handful of UD chips into before returning to her own pocket in a motion that was done almost by muscle memory alone.

The skills Vod learned in her childhood were ones almost necessary for survival in cases of absent or neglectful parents, skills that allowed her to feed and clothe herself when no one else would. Eventually she found other things she was good at besides pickpocketing and petty thievery, such as fixing just about any kind of tech or weaponry and generally being able to make something out of practically nothing. One of the gangs in the area, the Bombers, took an interest in her shortly before she became a teenager. They offered her an in with the gang in exchange for her repair and innovation services. They had an impressive warehouse of technological odds and ends used in crafting their IEDs, something Vod found she was also naturally quite good at. It was through the Bombers she was able to start making contacts with some of the traders in the market- the fact that she had money was a valuable asset for making deals with the salvagers who regularly went off-world and wanted straight UD over a part worth just as much.

After few years and plenty of opportunities to display her capabilities, a salvage crew from Leon IV offered to bring Vod on as an apprentice. She left the next day and never looked back, ready and more than willing to leave the Bombers and Sol Lucia behind her. While working with the Leons she got into trouble every now and again with the law on account of deals gone bad that ended in shootouts or skirmishes with other salvage crews over a particularly good haul; that was in addition to the few stints in the hole she ended up doing for smuggling and violating intergalactic salvage laws. Those were some of the best years of her life.

As Vod left the market and headed into a more residential-type area she counted out the UD that'd been unwittingly donated by a few generous scrappers, concurrently trying to figure out what her chances were of getting her hands on a full bottle or two of booze. There'd been a few shots or so left in the flask she'd filched, but it was hardly enough to take the edge off. _'At least one of these scavs was bound to have a stash on their ship or something...'_ , Vod thought somewhat bitterly as she sat on a flight of narrow steps that lead up to another level of homes along the wide street. Pulling the flask from her pocket she drained the last of what tasted vaguely like some non-descript backroom liquor. A lot of burn, not a lot of kick.

The sound of quiet footsteps drew to a pause a few steps behind her, prompting Vod to glance over her shoulder at the young girl who stood looking down at her with dark eyes. She wore a long robe under a maroon headscarf that complimented her curly hair and dark skin but did little to hide the slight hollowness of her cheeks. Vod figured the girl couldn't be more than five years old, but there was a certain maturity in her eyes. No doubt she was one of the survivors of the invasion, and knowing how a year-long war affected her childhood she could understand what the New Meccan girl had likely been through in the last few weeks.

"You have nice eyes," the petite girl commented innocuously, walking down a few more steps as if to get a better look. Vod quirked a brow but couldn't help the small smile that formed on her lips. "Your parents told you not to talk to strangers, right?" the woman replied, noting that the girl didn't so much as blink and instead gave her a warm smile. "Well, if you tell me your name we won't be strangers anymore," the girl responded smartly before moving to sit down on the step next to Vod.

"My name's Ziza," she said by way of introduction, Vod unable to keep herself from smiling just a little at the child's forwardness. "Vanora… but please, call me Vod," the Sol Lucian replied, eyes drifting briefly to the large pendant that hung on a long silver chain around the girl's thin neck. "Vod… that's a funny name," Ziza commented, "You're not from New Mecca, are you?" Slowly Vod shook her head before glancing back to the street. "No, but where I grew up wasn't much different than here."

Ziza followed her gaze, blinking slowly before Vod felt the young girl's eyes on her once again. "It wasn't always like this. It used to be nice here, but now everyone's gone," Ziza said quietly, her brow creasing as she frowned, "Sometimes I wish we could go, too, but momma says we should stay."

"Ziza! I told you to stay in the house. It's not safe out here," a woman's voice said sharply from behind them. Vod glanced over her shoulder while Ziza got up and ascended the steps quickly toward her mother. "It's okay momma, Vod was watching out for me," the young girl said, taking her mother's hand as the woman crouched down to be at her daughter's eyelevel. "You can't just go running around anymore… What if something happened to you?"

"There she is! Grab her!" A rough sounding voice shouted, Vod snapping her head toward the top of the staircase to see a trio off-world men dressed in worn, patchwork garb. Her instincts told her to flee, but after a fraction of a second she realized that she wasn't their target; Ziza's mother was. The woman gathered up her daughter before running down the stairs towards Vod. "Follow me," the Sol Lucian said sharply as they reached her, grasping the other woman's forearm briefly to steer her around the corner before starting down the street in the opposite direction of the markets.

Vod skirted along the wall, turning down the first alleyway she came across and waiting for Ziza's mother to catch up before ducking behind the heavy curtain hanging over the doorway of a vacant storefront. Vod tucked the pair behind her as she pressed her shoulder against the doorframe, keeping them close to the wall with her arm. Straining to hear any sign that they had been followed, Vod slowly reached toward her belt to grasp the hilt of the dagger strapped to the front of her thigh. They remained frozen for several minutes before Vod felt comfortable moving again, slowly turning to face the woman as she set Ziza back on her own two feet.

"Momma, why were those men chasing us?" the girl asked, clasping at her mother's robes as she looked pleadingly up at her. "I'm so sorry sweetheart, I didn't know they saw me…" the woman said softly, pulling her daughter close as Vod continued to stare dully at her. "What happened?" she then asked flatly, the older woman staring at her with wide doe eyes before licking her slightly chapped lips as her hands moved to cover her daughter's ears.

"I… I took water from a scavenger's stall at the market. I got home and when I saw Ziza wasn't there I panicked. They must have seen me and recognized who I was when I went out to look for her," she explained before moving her hands and gently smoothing them back over her daughter's hair. "I'm Lajjun, by the way," Ziza's mother offered before Vod introduced herself as well. "What brings you to New Mecca, Vod?" Lajjun asked as she looked over the woman that stood before her.

Despite the rough edge to her appearance, Ziza seemed to be inexplicably drawn to her- but realistically, she had always been drawn to people Lajjun considered dangerous. Ziza was so much like her father in that way; always willing to see the best in people even when others might not. She watched the girl scratch the back of her skull, looking decidedly unflustered by the question despite the long pause she took before finally answering. "Truthfully, I'm just trying to stay out of sight. I did some not-very-nice things to some really shitty people, and needless to say they're not going to let it go."

Vod stared back at Lajjun for several long moments before the older woman gave a slow nod. "I've met your kind before… Come back to our house and we can talk."

* * *

The woman's home bore the same marks of invasion as the rest of the planet, complete with broken windows, dislodged doors, and blaster holes littering the walls. Somehow the original beauty of the home still shone through. The door they entered through hung crooked on its hinges, but inside the home appeared rather unscathed if not a bit bare. From a quick account of everything that remained it seemed that only small things of value had been sold, perhaps to pay for food or supplies. Some furniture which had been closer to the now-broken windows was a little worse for wear, a chair and loveseat having been righted while a bookshelf that had nearly cracked by the impact remained where it had fallen.

Lajjun lead her daughter and Vod toward the kitchen, motioning for both of them to sit at the table as she began searching through cupboards and pulling out a small amount of foodstuffs.

"We don't have much, but I'm sure I can fix you something," Lajjun offered, looking to Vod over her shoulder. "You don't have to make me anything," the other woman assured, sparing a glance and a nod of her head toward the young girl who was completely focused on fiddling with the heavy tooth-like pendant that hung around her neck. "She's a growing girl," Vod replied knowingly.

"Ziza, why don't you go play in your room? I'll call you when lunch is ready," Lajjun said after a moment, her daughter's head perking up before giving a soft pout. "But can't Vod come play with me?" "I'll be there in a little bit. Your mom and I are just going to talk a little first," the woman in question replied, earning a nod from Ziza before she slipped down off the chair and made her way out of the kitchen.

"Where are you from?" Lajjun ventured as her daughter retreated further into the house, Vod tilting her head up slightly as she sat further back in the chair. "Sol Lucia," she replied, watching the woman's posture as she waited for her response to register. It was difficult to tell how someone would react to meeting someone such an infamous planet. Some were sympathetic, others became nervous or even frightened. Most were curious in a general sense, eager to know if the rumors they'd heard were true. To her credit, Lajjun merely nodded as she continued working, nothing about her giving away her thoughts on the matter.

"I have never been," Lajjun replied conversationally, becoming one of the first people she'd ever met who wasn't off-put by her response. Vod had noticed the same response earlier when she gave the mother the layman's version of her current situation. _'I've met your kind before …'_ "People like me, with bounties and rap sheets, don't usually inspire confidence… And you trusted me anyway. I want to know why," Vod said slowly, Lajjun visibly stiffening as the meaning of her words settled upon her. She remained still for several long seconds as if contemplating something before releasing the tension in her body with a heaving sigh.

"Riddick."

* * *

 **\- To be continued;**


End file.
